SONG
How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff
And his sandal shoon.
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone;
And at his head a green grass turf
And at his heels a stone.
White his shroud as mountain snow,
Larded with sweet showers,
Which bewept to the grave did go,
With true love showers.
ANONYMOUS
TOM O’ BEDLAM
The morn’s my constant mistress,
And the lovely owl my marrow;
The naming drake,
And the night-crow, make
Me music to my sorrow.
I know more than Apollo;
For oft when he lies sleeping,
I behold the stars
At mortal wars,
And the rounded welkin weeping.
The moon embraces her shepherd,
And the Queen of Love her warrior;
While the first does horn
The stars of the morn,
And the next the heavenly farrier.
With a heart of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander:
With a burning spear,
And a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander;